


Dat Rear End

by appleschnapple



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleschnapple/pseuds/appleschnapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, for one reason or another Fenris doesn't wear his armor, just plainclothes (maybe it needed to be sent to the armorer for repairs or something). His outfit includes a pair of reaaaally tight pants, and suddenly EVERYONE notices that Fenris has the nicest butt this side of the Waking Sea. - Kink meme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dat Rear End

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, I feel like I'm kind of spamming all over the place but I just wanted to upload my stuff here. :C Apologies to everyone!

It had to happen eventually. No piece of armour, no matter how finely crafted, could withstand years of wear and tear without consequence, and it was with an air of regret that Fenris sent it to Smith the smith for repairs – and only after being thoroughly reassured by Aveline that in spite of the man's... unconventional nature, he was one of the few armourers she trusted with her own.

Even so, he did not feel comfortable without it – the temporary armour he'd picked up from the Dalish was too lightweight – and walking along the streets of Hightown, he managed to feel more conspicuous than he had in all his years of living there. He felt as though all eyes were on him.

In his defence, and much to his utter displeasure, he would later turn out to be right.

\- - - 

It started with the abomination, as things often did.

“What?” he growled out, because who knew what sorts of things that demon within him could be thinking about. Dark, malevolent things, no doubt. To his surprise, Anders did not snap back at him, but instead looked as though he'd come out of some kind of trance. This did little to allay Fenris' suspicion.

“Nothing,” Anders said, eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

“You were _looking_ at me.”

“Oh... was I?” His voice sounded oddly strangled. “Must have just let my, er, mind wander.”

Fenris felt unusually unbalanced. This was not how their exchanges typically went. “A wandering mind leaves you even more exposed to possession than you already are.”

“Right,” said Anders, still inspecting his feet.

\- - - 

“Oh, Fenris,” came Merrill's voice from behind him, and Fenris spun around sharply. He'd grown paranoid in Hightown – people just wouldn't stop _staring_ at him – and had hoped to retreat to Lowtown to escape their watching eyes. He had not considered the possibility of encountering _Merrill_. “I didn't recognise you from behind – not that I was looking, or anything,” she tittered nervously. “Is that Dalish?”

“You should know, shouldn't you?”

“Oh, of course, it's just it's odd seeing you wearing – not that it's bad or anything, quite the opposite, it's just--”

“--Did you _want_ something?” he asked wearily. It had to be better than listening to her babbling, and the less time he spent in her presence the better. Merrill blinked.

“I nearly forgot! I needed to buy a new chair.”

“A chair?” That... did not seem particularly conducive to blood magic, he had to admit.

“Hawke accidentally broke it last time she came over – she was very embarrassed, but I told her it just wasn't made for dealing with a human's weight.” Merrill contemplated this for a moment. “I don't think that made her feel much better, actually. You're not too busy, are you?”

“What?” Fenris wasn't quite sure where that had come from.

“It's just,” Merrill began, sheepishly, “the chairs they sell here are quite heavy, and it's a bit of a walk back to the alienage. I was wondering if you could help.”

Fenris considered this. On the one hand, he was under no obligation to help anyone, least of all a blood mage. On the other, he could just imagine Hawke's face if he made Merrill carry it herself. “All right,” he said finally, but throwing in just enough resentment to let Merrill know he wasn't doing it out of the goodness of his heart.

“Good! Now, if you could just walk ahead of me...”

\- - - 

If Anders had been acting oddly, then Sebastian was a few ill-spoken words away from being taken to the nearest asylum. He seemed to keep looking at Fenris nervously, then immediately averting his eyes before glancing back over to him. It was unsettling, to say the least.

“Are you well?” he asked finally, because all things considered he quite liked Sebastian, and he'd rather the man not die of some unfortunate illness.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You seem quite... flushed.” An understatement – Fenris was not previously aware that humans could turn that shade of crimson.

“It... must be the heat,” Sebastian said weakly, running a hand through his hair. Fenris just gave him a slow nod, and they carried onwards towards the Hanged Man to meet with Hawke and the others – only to be interrupted by a slightly disturbing croaking sound as he made his way up a set of steps.

“On second thoughts,” Sebastian all but groaned, turning away from him, “perhaps it is best I go back to the Chantry. To, er, lie down.”

\- - - 

“I can just hear the broody babies now,” Varric told him as they made their way through the Hightown market.

“You are a very odd dwarf.”

\- - - 

Fenris was not usually the victim of Aveline's appraising eye, and he was not relishing the opportunity now. “Is everything all right?” he said, as politely as he could manage, hoping his discomfort wasn't too obvious. Aveline was a woman worthy of respect, and he hoped that over the years he'd managed to win hers.

“It's surprising, actually,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “You would think you'd be scrawnier than that. Keep up the good work.”

“I... thank you?” Fenris tried. It seemed as good a response as any.

“Oh.” Aveline suddenly looked flustered. “Did I say that out – never mind.”

\- - - 

Isabela and Hawke were whispering. And giggling. And _pointing_.

“What _is_ it?” he snapped, because this had gone on long enough and he was not letting this go until he got a satisfactory answer. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“We like the view,” Isabela said cheerfully, Hawke nodding along with her. “Do you think you could try maybe... swaggering a bit?”

“Swagger?”

“Maybe more of a... oh, I don't know, _sashay_?” Hawke suggested. “Or just bend over a lot. That could be nice too.”

“... Why.”

“Because,” Isabela began, looking at him as though he was an idiot, “you have a nice arse and are wearing scandalously tight pants. Do we need a better reason?” She gave him an entirely shameless once over. “On an entirely unrelated note, how opposed are you to the idea of a threesome?”

Fenris stared at them both. Hawke winked, and gave him a thumbs up.


End file.
